Posts Tagged ‘poem’

  • Justus Quidem Tu Es, Domine, Si Disputem Tecum, Verumtamen Justa Loquar Ad Te

    March 20th, 2020 | Poetry | journalpulp | No Comments

    Justus quidem tu es, Domine, si disputem tecum; verumtamen justa loquar ad te: Quare via impiorum prosperatur? Thou art indeed just, Lord, if I contend With thee; but, sir, so what I plead is just. Why do sinners’ ways prosper? and why must Disappointment all I endeavour end? Wert thou my enemy, O thou my […]

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  • She Came Through The Mist & The Rain

    January 28th, 2020 | Poetry | journalpulp | 2 Comments

    Here’s a short video of my transcribing an obscure but beautiful passage written by a little-know writer named Arthur Symons (1865–1945), in a poem called “Rain On The Down.” NIGHT, and the down by the sea, And the veil of rain on the down; And she came through the mist and the rain to me […]

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  • 3 Strange & Wondrous Ways You Can Learn Poetry By Heart & Memorize Any Passage of Literature

    December 24th, 2019 | Poetry | journalpulp | 6 Comments

    Poems, unique among all literature, were for many centuries specifically meant to be learned by heart. They were meant to be memorized and then recited aloud. This is called the oral tradition of poetry — which in essence means holding literature in the mind and heart, and then reciting it. Thus we find in the oral tradition […]

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  • The Zen of Allen Ginsberg

    The Zen of Allen Ginsberg

    June 3rd, 2014 | Allen Ginsberg | journalpulp | Comments Off on The Zen of Allen Ginsberg

    Irwin Allen Ginsberg was born June 3rd, 1926, and died April 5th, 1997. Today is his 88th birthday. Ginsberg, along with Jack Kerouac and William Burroughs, is a preeminent figure in the 1950’s Beat Generation counterculture — i.e. the Beatniks — and if you’ve ever wondered what, precisely, these women and men stood for, it […]

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  • View Of A Pig

    View Of A Pig

    November 28th, 2012 | Poetry | journalpulp | 1 Comment

    This was written by the late Ted Hughes, most famous, I think, for being the husband of Sylvia Plath: The pig lay on a barrow dead. It weighed, they said, as much as three men. Its eyes closed, pink white eyelashes. Its trotters stuck straight out. Such weight and thick pink bulk Set in death […]

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